


Soap Wars

by strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Imagine your OTP, lots of fluff, with a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Imagine your OTP having a huge argument over whose turn it is to do the dishes. The dispute is only settled when they decide to do them together, and play-fight with the soap suds.”</p><p>Also cuddling. And grumpy teenage Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soap Wars

"Let me do the dishes, Regina."

"The last time you did them one of the plates broke and they came out almost less clean then when they _started_. Go help Henry with his homework, I trust you still remember  _some_  algebra.”

"Oh come on that’s totally untr-"

"No."

"But I live here too and-"

_"No."_

It astounds Emma, even to this day, two and half years after that unofficial Storybrooke civil war, how much she and Regina  _never agree on anything._

It could be who picks Henry up from writing club. It could be who’s bringing who lunch. Who’s paying the bill, if Henry is staying with his grandparents or with Neal or at home. Or tiny matters, like who is doing the dishes. Regina demands something in that no-nonsense Madam Mayor voice that never worked on Emma  _ever_. Emma disagrees and then it’s raised voices and maybe a appliance broken at two in the morning, and either them tangled up in each other on bed or Emma tangled up in the futon bed in the den.

She could sulk about Regina never ending up in the den, but then she might end up in the den again and she’s woken up with a sore back one too many times.

And a lot of the time, this is the most ironic part in her opinion, it’s about doing something nice for the other person. Like the dishes today, for instance. How Regina’s back has been bothering her and Emma was going to offer that Regina lie down on the comfy living room couch while Emma does the dishes and  _doesn’t_ drop them thank you very much that’s only happened twice, and then after helping Henry with his homework, they’d cuddle on that couch in a big spoon-little spoon fashion underneath that stupid blanket with the christmas lights.

But  _no_.

(And Emma is not going to think about the very similar argument they had when Regina brought over her lunch two days ago.  _Nope._ )

Emma stands in the doorway for a moment, just sort of watching Regina and silently fuming and also letting her eyes wander all over her form. She isn’t going to give this one up, especially when she’s perfectly capable of doing dishes. She could at least do the drying,  _jesus_. Apparently Emma isn’t being very quiet in her standing still and watching or Regina has scary ‘Ms. Swan is disobeying my orders’ instincts, which is more plausible, because Regina turns her head with a sharp:

"Our son is waiting, Ms. Swan."

Emma rolls her eyes and glances back behind the door frame to glance at their son, dutifully working on his homework on the dining room table, earphones in, probably blaring something to drown out his insufferable parents. 

"You okay, kid?" She nearly shouts to get his attention. 

He pulls out one of the plugs and raises a brow.

“Yeah? This is mostly review for the test this Friday. I’m cool, Ma.”He puts the plug back in and goes back to ignoring Emma and she knows that she’s probably lost him until she stops by his room to say goodnight.

She pulls back into the kitchen.

"You see that, Madam Mayor? He says ‘I’m cool, Ma.’ He’s great at math. He gets As or at least a B+ every time. I trust him with that." She steps into the kitchen, inching closer and closer to Regina and the damn dishes with every word. She was close enough to see an irritated expression on her face, even as her washing was undisturbed by it.

"Good at math he may be, I’m not sure  _when_  he decided to forgo the rules of grammar. He must have picked up that idiom from  _you_ or his _father_.” She says the word father exactly how she thinks of Neal, which is still not too highly. Family dinners will probably be forever awkawrd.

Emma rolls her eyes again, stepping just a bit closer, close enough to wrap her arms around Regina’s waist. She leaned in, dropping her head on Regina’s shoulder, allowing her hands to clasp in front of her stomach. She could reach forward and pick up a dish to wash from this perspective, but her current position is extremely comfortable, and she doesn’t feel like getting swatted.

"Don’t be mean. And he probably picked it up at school."

A huff. Regina is still fairly rigid in her arms, although as Emma drops a kiss onto the back of her neck, she relents ever so slightly.

"I know he’s a brilliant student, but I still worry." 

"I know. I worry too, sometimes. But I know he’s a smart kid, and would come to us if he needed help."

Regina breathes deeply and turns back to give Emma something like a grateful smile.

"Will you check in with him tonight?" Regina turns around in her arms and breaks Emma’s hold on her gently in order to grab a new towel from the sink. 

"Yeah. Of course. What kind of mother do you think I am?"

"Your snark isn’t necessary, dear."

"Rich coming from you."

As Emma is still in front of the sink, Regina bats her away with the towel to resume her washing and Emma leans on the counter beside it and stares at Regina in what she hopes is a very persuading way.

"Let me do some of those."

"No."

"Come on, it could be fun!"

"It’s  _dishes._ ”

"We could be like those couples working together in symbiosis or whatever on tv."

A laugh burbles up in Regina’s throat. A very rich laugh, and filled with a specific mirth that was genuine and signified that Regina wasn’t really mad and this argument was mostly foreplay so score, no couch for Emma Swan. And the laugh causes the butterflies in Emma’s stomach to start fluttering and a deep warmth to settle in her chest. She loves Regina’s laugh. And the smile that occasionally accompanies it. The one that’s twitching in her lips right now.

"We’re hardly a tv couple, dear."

"But-"

_"No."_

Seeing that Regina is now being playful, or Regina’s version of playful anyway, Emma does a very stupid, very dangerous thing and reaches into the sudsy leftovers of pasta, and flicks her hand in the direction of Regina’s very stylish t-shirt.

There is a terrifying pause. Regina looks down at her shirt, then the sink, and then the leftover soap in Emma’s hands. Her facial features are indescribable. Almost blank. Her lips are pursed. And then, oh god oh god, her brow furrows.

Emma is going to get  _killed._

She almost closes her eyes to await her doom, but decides that’s dumb and mentally writes her obituary.

_Emma Swan, murdered by her former Evil Queen girlfriend in the kitchen of their home, for attempting couple-y playful behav—oof_

Another burble of laughter, and yes, Emma Swan has been hit in the face with a handful of soap suds. She wipes the liquid away and sees a mischievous twinkle in Regina’s eyes, a light, and it lightens her heart of whatever lingering fears, and she sees the same twitch of a smile on her lips threatening to become more than just that, and then Regina’s features settle into a familiar irritated (but not really) smirk.

"You’re  _not_  ruining another one of my good shirts, Ms. Swan.”

Emma grins. 

And war descends.

She’s not entirely sure who throws the next one, but then they’re  _both_  doing it, throwing soap at each other and laughing and getting hysterically wet, Regina’s shirt soaked but not ruined, shoving soap down each other’s shirts and in each other’s hair, laughing and laughing and  _loving_ , and it’s way bether than that symbiosis tv family shit, because when this is over Regina is going to pretend nothing happened and turn beat red and chide Emma for her childish behavior and Emma isn’t going to sleep on the couch and they’re going to cuddle on the couch and are going to argue about who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon; Regina is going to be the little spoon because she secretly(not really) loves being the little spoon.

Henry walks in just seconds after it’s over, them both dripping wet and Regina looking somewhat panicked at the state of her kitchen but mostly trying to hide a smile, and Emma not even suppressing her laughter for one second at the absurdity, and he throws up his hands and says:

"That’s it! I’m telling Grandma someone cursed us again!" And as he leaves that burble of laughter from Regina becomes full blown and it’s beautiful. Emma cups her soapy cheeks and kisses her soundly, Regina’s hand crinkling in her soapy shirt. 

The moment can’t last, because this isn’t them.

She pushes her away a few seconds later, and looks around her kitchen with a deep sigh and her brow furrows into that sadness she always has at her contours. She brushes back her hair and gives Emma a long suffering look.

"My kitchen is in shambles."

"Our kitchen."

"Just  _go._ " 

Emma gives her another kiss, says she’ll see her upstairs because she knows Regina likes cleaning her kitchen a very specific way and needs to breathe and she’s picked her battles for the evening. She wonders if there will be a time when Regina isn’t terrified of these moments, where happiness seizes them even if they both think they don’t deserve it. When Emma finally settles down in the bedroom she finds panic within herself too. Because  _when_  had these moments started? When had they started to feel so natural? Why does she  _know_ Regina’s scared, even as she’s angry and frustrated? Just a year ago, she would have left the room frustrated and angry herself instead of just  _knowing_. She feels a familiar restlessness, the one that tells to  _run_. Family is still strange, even as she’s formed it out of all the broken parts.

She feels a chill settle into her bones, and she climbs into the warm covers.

Later on, Regina comes upstairs exhausted and with clammy hands and Emma holds her and Regina holds her back and they’re sort of tangled up in each other. Emma’s heart is light and heavy all at the same time. The questions tangle up too, like their legs and arms and Emma playing with the hairs at the back of Regina’s neck. They’re too complicated to be solved at this quiet moment. 

"I’m sorry." Regina whispers, and it’s too small, almost wispy like the hairs Emma is playing with.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Emma whispers back.

Regina holds tighter, and Emma holds back.

A few minutes later and neither are asleep. Regina’s eyes are dark as coal, but the bare moonlight is reflected in them.

"That was fun." Emma says with a smirk.

"Childish." Regina huffs, but her hands find purchase on Emma’s back.

"You could have just let me do the dishes."

She can practically feel Regina roll her eyes and she rolls away from Emma then, each of her limbs untangling with a slide of fabric. Another few minutes pass and tentatively Emma winds her arms around Regina. She makes a humming noise, and in her half-sleep state, places her arms over Emma’s and holds, cuddling deeper.

She was right, Emma thinks as she starts to close her eyes. Little spoon.


End file.
